Alana's Seven Years
by Showing The Love
Summary: This is Alana's story of her seven years at Hogwarts, which are not all that she thought they were going to be.


**I'm a really big Harry Potter fan, and after watching all 8 of the movies and reading all of the books, I just ****_had_**** to write a fanfiction. The main character isn't me, it's just someone I made up.**

**I do not own the Harry Potter series (movies or books) and all the original characters belong to J.K.R.**

My arm is on fire.

The flames burn my skin, and I can feel the heat nagging forcefully at my bones. The pain is insufferable, lighting my nerves and tearing every ounce of calm away from me. A scream , either my own or an unlucky passerby's, resonates deep within my skull. My good hand flies up to cover my ear, but the scream drawls on and on.

And then it stops.

Someone put the fire out, and the pain slowly ebbs away until it is just a dull throb. My hand falls limp and hits against the ground with a _thud_. Even behind my closed eyelids, I know that I am lying on the floor of a dark room, with no one to help me. What seems like hours later, my eyes weakly pull open.

As I thought, the sight is nothing to behold; a gloomy room filled with cobwebs, dust, and furniture that is probably centuries old. I scan the floor, looking for any sign of a doorway or opening. Sure enough, a slit in the wall is pouring light out, the floor shining clean around it.

My eyes widen; the dust has been pushed away to reveal a skid mark and several footprints that are much too big to be mine. Was this a robbery?

A sharp click from the doorway catches my attention. Directly across from me is a boy, no older than twelve, standing stagnant in the threshold of the ancient doorway.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

I nod feebly, not ready to admit how bad my injuries are. The world behind the boy draws me in, and I watch the many people walk by without looking, and I hear the loud sound of a train whistle.

"Well, c'mon then!" the boy motions for me to follow and steps out of the room.

I push myself onto my right arm just for it to buckle beneath me and send burning pain throughout me. A small whimper escapes my lips, just loud enough for the boy to hear.

"You're not okay, are you?" he asks, jogging over to me and offering his hand. "I'll get you on the train and to a nurse if you hurry."

"Thank you," I whisper hoarsly.

The boy smiles. "No problem," he pulls me up gently and pushes me out the door. "My name's Henry. And you are?"

"Alana," I reply, squinting to keep the sun out of my eyes. When I notice Henry tring to look at my arm, I hide it behind my back. "Where am I?"

Henry rolls a cart out with books, a furry hamster-like creature, and other various items on it up next to me. "Platform 9 3/4, if you'll believe it. Your baggage and owl are already onboard the train. Now get on before we miss the train!"

I'm pushed forward through the crowd. A tassel from someone's robe hits my arm, sending the sinister flames back through my body. But before I could see who did it, I was pushed up the steps of the train and into a thin hallway.

"Hello, Mr. Smith. How are you-" the sentence is cut off by a gasp. "What happened?!"

I look at my arm quickly before pushing it into the dusty robes I was wearing.

Henry stepped aboard the train and carefully walked past me. "Oh, hello Mrs. Joan. I see you've met Alana,"

"No, actually, I haven't!" Mrs. Joan murmured frightfully. "Come with me, dear. I'll heal that burn on the way."

Again I was pulled away. We rushed past many kids sitting in booths and small cabins, many of whom gaped at my arm. The thought that I haven't actually looked at my arm yet crossed my mind, but by the looks of these kids faces, I didn't want to.

"Now, Alana," Mrs. Joan says quietly, sitting me down in a chair. We are in an isolated room far away from the other kids, what I assume is a makeshift Nurses room. "This might hurt a bit."

My blood cools dramatically, but before I can say anything, Mrs. Joan touches my arm and the fire burns as brightly as before. I writhe desperately to try and get out of her grasp, but my arm is being firmly held down. It doesn't take long before both of my legs and my left arm are pinned down as well.

A face flashes across my closed eyelids, too fast to pick out any fine definitions. Before I can try to bring the memory back, the fire consumed me once more.

"There."

The unbearable pressure is released from my arm and relief rushes through me as I slump back into the chair.

Mrs. Joan walks in front of me, her hands covered in blood. "I'm sorry, I would have used magic, but it would have been even more painful that way. Your clothes were melted into burn, so I had to take them out. I'll buy you another robe if you want me too."

Sweat drips into my eyes at the thought of a more painful experiance than that. I use my good arm to wipe the droplets away.

"Woah," Henry, who must of been in the room the whole time, murmured. "Alana, where did you get that burn from?"

My eyes trail down my right arm. The burn is completely red, mostly from the blood, and the skin was peeling at the edges. Blisters were showing up in the very center. A lump forms in my throat when I notice what Henry really was asking.

"I have no idea," I whisper, my voice cracking. This was n ordinary burn, which would have been spread out on my arm in a strange pattern. But this was no flame burn; it was shaped like a hand.


End file.
